


Stag night confessions

by KendraPendragon



Series: My tumblr writing [31]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Ficlet, Fluff, Humor, a brother's revenge, sherlock being drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 10:45:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16157450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendraPendragon/pseuds/KendraPendragon
Summary: Mycroft becomes a witness of his brother's pitiful, drunken love confessions.





	Stag night confessions

Not for the first time this evening Mycroft curses his sentiment. However small, it had brought him here, sitting at a greasy table at a gay bar, the clueless groom and best man stinking drunk, the ability to phrase coherent sentences almost lost.   
For almost an hour now he’s listening to Dr. John Watson over-detailed description of her face. To make things worse Sherlock is listening with big dreamy eyes, his faces rested on one hand, half his face pulled up, making him look like a moron. He’s nodding and asking things like “How blue are her eyes?” and “How deep is that laughter line?”.

Mycroft is being at the verge of feeling physically ill. 

He can’t stay. No matter how mad Mummy is going to be, he has to go. She is the reason that he’s sitting here, the loud music slowly deafening him. Sherlock has called her a few hours ago in his drunkeness, sobbing into her phone how much his heart aches and that she needs to help him. Mummy has called Mycroft, her voice panicky and demanding and here he was. 

Just when he takes his umbrella in hand does his brother grab the collar of his suit jacket and pulls him close roughly. His blue eyes are wet. 

“MAKE IT HAPPEN!”

Mycroft frowns and peels his brother’s, of beer reeking fingers off his expensive suit. 

“Make what happen?” 

“MOLLY! I! MOLLY!”

“What?!”

“Eyes, Mike! Brown and big! B-Beautiful! Hands! HANDS! Small. So small. And skilled!”

Now that his hands are free Sherlock begins gesturing wildly. It looks a bit like sawing something and then drawing lines. Then Sherlock bends down to his hand and moves his head in sync as he mimics picking things out.

“Skilled!” he screams and John nods with pursed lips, apparently totally understanding what Sherlock means. 

“Want to kiss…every finger!”

Sherlock mimics that, too. And then he presses the invisble hand against his cheek, closing his eyes, sighing happily. 

About then Mycroft decides to pull out his phone and starts recording. The lighting is not ideal, but it’s still bright enough so that one can see the stupid expressions on his little brother’s face as he goes on. 

“God, her nose. Drives me insane…Pixie! Pixiemolly!”

John snorts and the boys can’t catch their breaths for about two minutes.   
From one second to the other Sherlock buries his head in his hands and screams in frustration. 

“Stupid! Stupid! Fiancé! Pah! I’mmm!” 

He points at himself. 

“Me! Just me! He no good! He no scientist! He no laugh at her jokes! Only I understand! I saw her first! She mine!!”

He slams his fist on the table. John, who has supported his head with his hand jerks up.

“You get her! We both marry! One big wedding!” John makes a big circle with his hands.

That’s when Sherlock’s face crumbles and he sobs. He shakes his head.

“She no love me, John! She no love me.”

Mycroft’s eyes widen in shock as an actual tear rolls down his brother’s cheek.

“It hurts so bad! Stop it hurt!”

He punches against his chest a couple of times until his brother stops him. Big mistake. Sherlock grabs his collar again. 

“You Mike! Make him go!”

Sherlock’s eyes are huge, his bottom lip quivering. 

“I will if you tell me his name.”

Yes, Mycroft is a bad man. He would be the last one to argue with that. But he’s sitting in a gay bar in the middle of the night with techno-or-whatever-the-heck-that-is music, on wobbly chairs and a greasy table with two drunken idiots, one of them being his yammering brother. 

Sherlock cries out in frustration and buries his head on the table. 

After this it is just a long series of sobbing Miss Hooper’s name.

Mycroft records it all. 

Five years later, at their wedding reception, Mycroft plays this video on a big screen, ruining their first dance as a married couple. At least in Sherlock’s eyes. 

He’s standing in the middle of the dance floor, gaping at the footage with his mouth hanging open and his ears red, while Molly has tears in her eyes and beams like the morning star. 

The ball room is dead silent after the video ends. 

Then Molly calls her groom an idiot and snogs him. John has to clear his throat to remind them that they are in fact not alone. 

The music starts again and Molly and Sherlock finally have their dance, holding each other close, foreheads resting together, forgetting all those eyes on them. 


End file.
